


Breathe In, Breathe Out

by orphan_account



Series: Voltron Prompts [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Heith - Freeform, M/M, metaphor more like metawhore, mild body horror, too gay 4 space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 16:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8720350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Hunk felt out of his element. There was always something to say, even when there wasn’t—improvisation was a skill he’s had since the beginning, but now he came up short. Gone was the animosity that powered his mind and allowed him to fill silences. For once, he didn’t know what to say. He wanted to scream; at least then there would be noise, even if it were only to replace one tension with another.But Keith saved him from that, too.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winterysomnium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterysomnium/gifts).



> Wintery sent me this prompt about a week ago, but when I heard it was your birthday, I tried extra hard to finish this in time. So happy birthday! I hope you had a wonderful day ♥︎
> 
> Edited by me, all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Original prompt:  
> Heith, "I'm not even sorry."

Space was cold.  
  
From summers in the grueling Nevada heat with the AC more broken than their spirits to the black void of space, there’s a hefty difference in temperature. There was always a chill that sunk deep into their bones, a cold they couldn’t shake, despite the delicate atmosphere of the castle—at least, Hunk thought it wasn’t just him. Sometimes he pondered how much of it was psychological because looking out and watching stars pass them by would turn his fingers numb.  
  
Hunk was not a fan of the cold, and that was all he felt of late. He yearned for the warm caress of the sun on his skin, but all he had was artificial light or how much he wanted to risk getting close to a star. Instead he woke every morning feeling like his tendons were going to snap like twigs.  
  
It had been Hunk’s goal to never be shoved in a cryopod for treatment, and not just because it involved serious injury. Lance said that he couldn’t knock the cold for three days when he got out. That alone was enough to give Hunk nightmares, but now as he scrutinizes the occupied pod, he found himself wishing he was in there instead. It should have been him.  
  
Blue light accentuated gaunt lines and painted the picture of near death. Keith had always been warm—abrupt and explosive at times, but he was always full of energy that rivaled a supernova. Now he was static like the statues peering down from the elegant walls of the Vatican, nothing more than chiseled marble. It was unnerving.  
  
But what really concerned Hunk was that it had been a week without the red paladin. Lance had been in a similar near-death experience, but he had only been in the pod for three days. Keith should be out by now.  
  
_“He’ll come out when he’s ready,”_ Shiro had told him, but even he could see the concern engraved in Shiro’s frown.  
  
It was late into the night. Everyone had already turned in to the comforts of their beds. Hunk’s eyes were beginning to burn from the fluorescent lights. He leaned his forearm against the glass of the pod, his eyes focused on the serene face.  
  
“C’mon, Keith.” Hunk pressed his forehead against his arm and closed his eyes. “What’s going on in your head?”  
  
The pod shifted and a soft hiss sounded in Hunk's ears. His weight had settled comfortably against the pod, but now he lurched forward into empty space, eyes open in a blind panic as he struggled to regain his footing. The tempered glass had receded into the pod, releasing a thick mist that dissipated into the air.   
  
Keith looked like a ghost.  
  
Hunk licked his lips, felt the skin shrink from the cold. “Keith?”  
  
An eye cracked open, and then the other. The heat of the room finally reached Keith and coloured his pallor in blotches. Hunk slumped in relief when Keith took a step forward and didn’t crumble under his weight like he had days ago. His frame looked strong, and when he stepped forward on his bad leg, there wasn’t a single tremble. As if half of his body hadn’t been shattered into a hundred pieces.  
  
“Hey,” Keith said. His voice sounded like gravel from misuse.  
  
“Hey. How you feel?”  
  
Keith stretched his arms above his head, wincing when his bones crack to life. “Exhausted,” he said, as if he hadn’t hibernated. “How long was I out for?”  
  
“A week.” The words were neutral and gave away nothing about Hunk’s internal conflict with morality and discernment. Keith’s head whipped around, and Hunk finally got a good look at the mauve eyes that had been absent from his life the past week.  
  
“What?” Keith rounded on him with such speed that made him forget Keith’s blood had been frozen in his veins not even five minutes ago. He stood only mere feet away from him. Blotches of red decorated Keith’s cheeks as blood gushed through his body and sent his endorphins sky high. “Why didn’t anyone pull me out? You guys couldn’t form Voltron, what the hell were you all thinking?” he said, as if these thoughts had never plagued Hunk’s mind, as if he hadn’t sat next to the cryopod for _days_ wondering if there was more to Keith’s injuries than broken bones and punctured lungs. The past week they had done nothing but sit on the edges of their seats in prayer that the Galra would take a personal holiday.  
  
But Keith didn’t know that.  
  
“We would have figured something out,” Hunk said. “Shiro wouldn’t risk your safety.”  
  
_And neither would I._  
  
There’s a bitterness to the words that coated Hunk’s tongue like oil, waiting for a match to set fire to his mouth. Watching the anger slip from Keith’s face was like dragging the blunt match across the box, the sparks nonexistent but the anticipation tangible.  
  
“I don’t need a babysitter.”  
  
“Never said you did.”  
  
The silence that followed compresses the air out of Hunk’s lungs. Funny how Keith was the one most dependent on air in the moment, but Hunk was the one struggling to breathe. But Keith remained composed. His face was stiff and showed no signs of future movement.  
  
Hunk felt out of his element. There was always something to say, even when there wasn’t—improvisation was a skill he’s had since the beginning, but now he came up short. Gone was the animosity that powered his mind and allowed him to fill silences. For once, he didn’t know what to say. He wanted to scream; at least then there would be noise, even if it were only to replace one tension with another.  
  
But Keith saved him from that, too.  
  
“I’m not even sorry.” Keith spoke the words with such finality as if Hunk wouldn’t press the issue further.  
  
“You should be,” Hunk said, choosing to ignore Keith’s clear desire to drop the subject. He surprised himself by how secure his voice sounded. “What were you thinking out there, man? You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”  
  
“We almost die every day.”  
  
Hunk grunted and rubbed his face with heavy fingers. “You’re missing the point. You’re our best fighter, you can’t just jump in front of shots like that.” He felt like he had taken on Shiro’s duty to hand out lectures like a class syllabus.  
  
Keith folded his arms over his chest, and for a moment Hunk forgot the paladin wasn’t broken, his breath catching in his throat as the urge to leap forward and catch him surged through his core. But Keith stood tall.  
  
“We’re a team. We’re supposed to look out for each other.”  
  
“That doesn’t mean martyrdom, Keith!”  
  
Air became scarce, and Hunk could only watch in silent trepidation as understanding blooms across Keith’s face. All moisture evaporated from his mouth like a puddle under the summer sun.  
  
“You were scared.” The words were soft, imposing in their wake and burrowing deep into Hunk’s very being. Part of him wondered if he could slip past him and hide in the cryopod.  
  
(He deduced his chances were beyond slim.)  
  
“I’m always scared,” he said, the slightest of quivers plaguing his voice, threatening to break his resolve like dawn taking to the dark sky.  
  
“No,” Keith said. He eyes were soft, a look Hunk didn’t get to see very often. A look that was far too tender and vulnerable that made Hunk feel undeserving, made him feel like he was witnessing something much too intimate. “You were scared for me.”  
  
The words laid Hunk out bare.  
  
He clears his throat. “Of course I was,” he said, voice quiet and raw. “We could have lost you.”  
  
I _could have lost you._  
  
Hunk remembered the horror that soaked him to the core when Keith crumbled before him like weathered pillars. He remembered how heavy Keith felt in his arms, tattered and limp. Pain had marred Keith’s face and slicked his skin with sweat. And all Hunk could do was try to keep him conscious.  
  
Hunk was pulled away from broken limbs and frantic shouts when he felt something cool press against his forehead. His eyes met intense mauve, and all thoughts were lost.  
  
“I’m not going anywhere,” Keith said. He shifted, their noses brushing against each other in a tender caress.  
  
The words were the warmest Hunk has heard in a long time, chasing away the cold that had made its home in his bones. He felt as if he was going to melt under Keith’s stare. He bit back the smile he felt threatening to split his face in two.  
  
“Like hell you’re not. I’m going to make you food fit for an army, and then you’re going right back to bed." When Keith smiled, Hunk’s heart swelled with pride.  
  
“It’s a date.”  
  
Space wasn’t as cold as Hunk had thought.


End file.
